


Fresh Starts and Bookmarks

by Introverted_Survivalist



Category: Trolls (Movies 2016 2020), Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Branch Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introverted_Survivalist/pseuds/Introverted_Survivalist
Summary: Poppy comforts Branch after he wakes up from a nightmare.
Relationships: Branch/Queen Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Fresh Starts and Bookmarks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DandelionCares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandelionCares/gifts).



> I'm determined to fill up TheBroppyTrain's gift section.
> 
> Again, not a native, grammar may be shitty.

Memories were the soul torturer of him. He couldn't escape them, nor hide from them; they were the worst kind of monster. He was scared of what his past held, all the memories that never seemed to escape him. They were pin point needles, piercing his skin. He couldn't scream or fight back, he had to just endure the pain as the picture of her terrified face flashed through his mind.

_“... and I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever!”_

He didn’t know how he had gotten there, when he had gotten there, where he had come from. All he knew that he felt rigid, stiff, and rather frozen. His body felt solid like cement.

_“... and if you only hold me tight, we'll be holdin' on forever!”_

He watched his little self as he danced upon the spotlight on the bough, spinning and laughing with a toothy smile spread across his young face. Loose suspenders hung from his shoulders, and his hand held a single rose, tiny fingers clasped around the stem. He put the rose back to his lips.

_“... and we’ll only be making it right…”_

And then he was back, in that terrible nightmare, as he watched his grandma’s fruitless screams while her feet made their way towards him, pounding against the bough. He felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in his abdomen. Tension grew in his face and limbs, and yet he still couldn’t move, stuck somewhere in space and only being able to watch the scene unfold before him. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow. The panic became a deluge of ice water surrounding every limb, creeping higher until it passed his mouth and nose. He couldn’t breathe.

_“... ‘cause we’ll never be wrong—”_

The familiar scream tore through him like a great shard of glass. He felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rock rattling in a box. And then he heard another one. They said we couldn’t feel the pain of another, but this scream was agony seeping into his skin. The scream was an adrenaline shot straight to the carotid. A young child, screaming the same thing over and over again, while he himself remained helpless and rigid. 

_“It’s your fault, it’s your fault, IT’S YOUR FAULT—”_

His eyes snapped open, eyelashes faintly batting against his lids when he blinked. Nights lately, hadn’t been at all easy on him; memories from a while ago had uprooted his sanity without a single warning. He slowly sat up, palms pushing gently against the creaking mattress, blinking away the images swarming inside his head. His lips felt dry and cracked, and he was thirsty for sure. He scoffed. People always seemed to wake up screaming their heads off in every single story he had read—that, apparently, wasn’t the case. Talk about over-dramatic.

He wiped the tear tracks across his cheeks with the back of his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat and feeling it throb. He’d been crying again—wasn’t that big of a surprise. He stared down at the tangle and mess of bedsheets, and suddenly wished he had another blanket with him. He was trying his best to think of anything _but_ that dream, and it seemed to be working.

That was, until Poppy spoke to him.

“You okay?”

He turned to see her looking back at him, her pink hair sprawled over the pillow, almost giving off a soft glow where the moonlight from the small, rounded window met with the color. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I’ve been awake for a few hours. Think I had too much candy.” She said thoughtfully.

“Another sugar rush?”

She didn’t reply, simply scooted a little closer, making bedsheets rustle. “... you were mumbling in your sleep.”

“It’s nothing.” He said quietly, but he knew Poppy would pry until she got the honest answer she wanted. 

“... it’s because of your grandma, isn’t it?”

Branch lifted his pale face before looking back down, silently wringing his hands. He didn’t say a word.

“They’re coming back?”

He sighed. The sigh that came was a signal, not of his resolve leaving but of the level his tension had reached. He was more like an old fashioned kettle; still full even when some steam forced its way out. “I try not to think about it, I try to keep it out of my head.” He said. “When the guilt comes, it just takes me down the old familiar path. I want to refuse to walk it, pretend that I am the… the troll I demand that I be. But…”

“But what?”

“The good memories keep me going and the bad ones make me want to hide from the world and never come out again, but they are locked tight together like two sides of the same coin. I can’t keep them apart. It’s like… every time I try to make myself happier, it just comes back.”

“... you know,” She said. “... I have dreams of him too, my dad.” Poppy offered him a small smile.

It had been quite a while since King Peppy’s passing—every troll was devastated, but Poppy was a mess. It had taken some time for Branch to help her back onto her feet, and she eventually managed to move on and accept it.

He perked up a little. “What kinds of dreams?”

“Many kinds. Sometimes I find myself reading a scrapbook with him, other times we go on a walk around the forest borders. And sometimes he even makes me his signature pie, although I can’t guarantee it always tastes good—”

“My dreams aren’t like that.”

He said, as if crestfallen, fidgeting with the corner of his bedsheets. “My dreams are mostly ones where I can hear my grandma calling out to me in the dark. I don’t think it’s night when it happens, but I never see her. So I call out for her too. Try telling her where I am. But I guess she can’t see me at all. We just scream and scream for each other until I give up and start crying again.”

He let out a dry sob that forced its way through his throat. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been singing like that, I shouldn’t have.”

“No, Branch… that’s just what you’re telling yourself. Imagine how happy Grandma Rosiepuff would be if she knew you were still alive. Because you’re the only one she’ll ever care for, you’re her family.”

Branch looked back up at Poppy, his eyes welled with tears that threatened to spill. “They keep telling me to forget, to let go. How? It’s all part of me.” He released a shaky sigh of frustration. “These… these memories, they're just the same as nightmares. They vanish when I'm awake, when I'm really right here in the present moment with you. Once I really open my eyes, they have no choice but to leave—”

“—and that gives you the chance to let in all the wonderful things around you.” Poppy said. “Think of our kids, Branch. Think of your friends. Think of your village.” She managed a comforting smile. “You’re our king, my husband, a father, and a beloved friend. And we’ll always be here to support you. No matter where you are, or what you think, there won’t be a single second where you’ll be on your own. I wish you’d realize that.”

When he didn’t say anything, she wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling him calm down instantly at her touch. She rubbed the tears away with her fingers and started rocking back and forth. 

Eventually, he leaned into her, snuggled in a little. "You're the only person I know that gives indefinite hugs."

Poppy laughed quietly. "Well, where else would I rather be?" In that moment the arms squeezed a fraction tighter and he breathed more slowly, his body melting into hers as every muscle lost its tension. Her touch made the room warmer somehow, his future within its walls seeming a little less bleak. This was life, real life.

Memories were books with chapters, deep and horrible; and so he had left them on the shelf to gather dust. He could’ve picked them up if he needed to learn something, to gain a perspective that helped him to create his own good story. He could’ve used them to re-see situations through the lens of their needs and traumas rather than his own. He wanted today, tomorrow and every tomorrow after to be wonderful; he wanted to choose what to write on those blank pages.

And now, he was determined to try it.


End file.
